


Spring Fever

by red_crate



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Basketball, Coming Untouched, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Possessive Billy Hargrove, Rutting, Scent Marking, Semi-Public Sex, Snark, Werewolf Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: They've been playing for maybe five minutes, but Billy can feel the exertion in his muscles, a warm burn that feels good. The full moon is in three days. He's got more energy than he knows what to do with, might go running in the woods once the sun goes down.He likes hunting.





	Spring Fever

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this tonight. It's more words than I've written all month. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It's not  _ warm _ , not what Billy considers warm anyway. But it's mid March, and everyone in Hawkins seems to be clamoring to grasp at Spring. He runs hot no matter the season, but Billy knows  _ warm _ is the sun beating down on you until sweat beads up along your hairline. Warm is being able to jump into the ocean and only have chattering teeth for a minute before your body acclimates. It's barely sixty-five at three thirty in the afternoon, sunlight bright enough to expect seventy degree weather. But it's not  _ warm _ .

Everyone's pretending it is. Short skirts and tank tops hidden beneath lightweight jackets. Not that Billy is going to complain about all that skin on display. The girls talk about planning to head to the lake this weekend to tan. Some of the guys smuggled in water balloons and ambushed the junior tennis team at lunch outside. All around Billy, people have gone a little stir crazy after the long winter.

Billy isn't planning on it or anything, but he's got an hour to kill before Max will be finished with her club meeting. There's no point in going home to just have to turn around and drive right back. Neil isn't that generous with gas money. He should have tried out for track, given himself the excuse to stay out of the house more often. Keeping his speed and reflexes in check while running is too much work for a low-contact sport. 

He's outside, walking lazily around the grounds, when the sound of rubber smacking against pavement rhythmically draws his attention. Drifting closer to the blacktop next to the tennis courts, he sees someone dribbling a basketball and eyeing up the goal like an opponent. It's Steve Harrington. Billy slows to a stop on the bank where grass is valiantly trying to come back to life despite the frost warnings in the morning. He tosses his cigarette to the ground.

Harrington passes from hand to hand, jogging forward from the half court marker that is faded with age. His shoes slap, and Billy can just make out the sound of his labored breathing and his heart beat quick, strong in his chest. Billy watches as Harrington's body accommodates his will, muscles bunching and tensing before stretching out as he leaps into the air and launches the ball to the goal. The score isn't as clean as his execution, but the ball ends up falling into the net after bouncing on the rim precariously for a breath. 

Billy feels himself clapping slowly before he knew he'd made the decision. But like most things when it comes to Harrington, Billy's brain lags behind everything else. 

“Nice,” he says, meaning it but letting the word come out condescending. The twist on Harrington’s mouth is satisfying. “Could of used more of that when it counted.” 

He saunters closer, lets gravity and Harrington’s general appeal do the work of pulling him closer. 

Steve retrieves the ball, perches it on his hip. The movement draws Billy's attention to his exposed stomach. The cut-off grey tee he's wearing is loose on his shoulders, looks comfortable and flimsy. Billy has a hard second where he can't look away from the line of hair trailing down his center and disappearing beneath his gym shorts. 

Billy's seen him naked plenty of times in the showers, but somehow this feels like  _ more _ with the watery early spring sun shining around them. 

The one person he hadn't expected to be swept up with the mass delusion of  _ warm _ is Harrington. After all, the guy wasn't generally that kind of show-off, not since Billy's known him. Steve is the kind of guy who keeps to himself and his fringe friends these days, always acting like he knows something that Billy  _ doesn't. _ An annoying quality that still wriggles beneath Billy's skin and makes his teeth set on edge when Steve looks at him dismissively.

Harrington doesn't notice Billy's distraction, says, “Yeah, probably,” like he doesn't  _ care _ .

It drives Billy crazy. 

He unzips his jacket as he walks around the chain link fence separating them. Harrington’s stuff is on the ground by the half rusted risers, and Billy drops his jacket on top. Later, he'll be able to smell his scent faintly on the leather. He's not dressed for this, still in his jeans and boots, but Billy has never been one to back down from a challenge—even an unspoken one. He strips off his shirt because it's one of his favorites and a button-up that he doesn't want to risk ripping. That gets tossed down as well.

The way Harrington’s eyes roam over his chest in a quick appraisal has Billy's stomach going warm and his wolf preening just a little.

Harrington throws the ball at him with intent, making it bounce against the blacktop close to Billy's feet so the impact isn't soft when Billy catches it with a grin. 

On the court, at least, they had good chemistry—pushing each other harder and working surprisingly well in tandem. They fall into one-on-one easily, going harder than a game of pick-up deserves. 

Steve elbows Billy in the gut when he's close on his heels and spins around him. It's a classic move. Billy grins, sharp, and inhales the thick scent if Harrington’s sweat, familiar and enticing. He's quick to grab the ball right out from under Harrington’s nose, swooping in and using his shoulders to hussle the other boy out of his way. 

His skin sticks against Harrington’s for a second before he's got the basketball sailing through the air and swishing neatly through the net. He crows in victory.

“Now that’s what I'm talking about,” Billy grins, tongue wagging as he takes in the eye roll Harrington gives him. “Just getting started, and I already scored on you.” 

They've been playing for maybe five minutes, but Billy can feel the exertion in his muscles, a warm burn that feels good. The full moon is in three days. He's got more energy than he knows what to do with, might go running in the woods once the sun goes down. 

He likes hunting.

Harrington ignores Billy's laughter, turns his back and bounces the ball slowly. “I've been out here since class let out,” he defends. “Wasn't expecting to have to pace myself.” 

Billy comes up behind him, enjoying the way Harrington’s shoulders tense, his wary look over his shoulder as he continues to dribble. “Don't got the stamina to keep up?” Billy teases, bumping his chest against Harrington’s back. This close all he can smell is teenaged adrenaline undercut with that sweet, slightly bitter scent that is uniquely Harrington. He snakes an arm around him, making an obvious play for the ball. 

“I've got plenty,” Harrington says, sliding to the left and backing up. The general annoyance that usually graces his features when Billy is nearby has been replaced with something almost easy. He huffs out something like a laugh. “I'm just not sure you're worth it.” 

That makes Billy growl, spurned and challenged all at once. He stands there, stance broad and breath coming too quickly. Billy's wolf is pacing under his skin, wants to chase Harrington and get his teeth on him until that smirk is wiped off his face. It's just a tease, a gode, and it's nothing different than usual. Billy's mouth stretches in the shape of a smile as he uses his legs to eat up the distance between them. “Baby, I'm more than worth it.”

Harrington backs up, still dribbling but only enough not to count as traveling. He smells nervous and thrilled at the same time. “You're all hype.” 

When Harrington dodges around Billy before he gets pushed out of bounds, Billy wraps an arm around his waist and picks him up, hauling them back and around. 

Nothing about this is in the rules, not even street rules, but Harrington doesn't seem to angry about it. Outraged and taken by surprise, yes, but not  _ angry _ .

“Foul!” He yells out, squirming with vigor. He might not hit the weights like Billy or have a natural born strength, but Harrington’s no slouch—hard to handle. He's got really bony elbows. 

The wind gets knocked out of Billy when Harrington rears back with a particularly nasty hit to his diaphragm. He lets go, bending over to breathe. He can hear the  _ swish _ of the goal again, and he chokes on a laugh. 

“Looks like you're the one with the stamina problem,” Harrington says, coming closer to gloat. The  _ smack, smack, smack _ of the basketball against the asphalt sounds like a taunt. “One-to-one. Do you need a minute to work through your ego?” 

Billy has his hands on his knees still, even though he can breathe just fine. He bunches his fingers in the fabric of his jeans, pushing away the tell-tale prick of claws attempting to break free. He's got a handle on his eyes, at least, when he looks up at Harrington. “Little shit.” 

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but it gets cut off when Billy rushes him, maybe using just a little of his supernatural speed to grab the ball out of Harrington’s hand. He makes the three point shot easily, jumping on his toes right up against Harrington. 

He can feel Harrington breathing against him, doesn't bother watching the ball hit its mark. He knew it would get there, and he's too busy tracking the jump in Harrington's neck as he looks over his shoulder to see if he made it.

Billy's moving again, wrapping his arms around Harrington’s waist, and rushing him 

With a surprised oomph, Harrington punches down on Billy's back and says, “This isn't football, dick!” But he doesn't sound mad. He sounds like laughing isn't something he's been able to do for a while, and Billy can relate.

The back of Harrington’s head bounces against the tall fence surrounding the court, chain link shivering metallically with the impact if their bodies. He's not really fighting the pin, feet spread too far to brace himself—far enough that Billy can get in close. He's  _ laughing _ , this loud thing that echoes across the empty backlot of the grounds. 

Billy wants to submerge in that carefree smile and swim in the sound. He's smiling. 

He's got wide hands with thick fingers, and when he presses one to the front of Harrington’s neck, the stretch of skin looks elegant and delicate in comparison. He almost regrets the move when Harrington hiccups on an inhale and goes tense under him. 

Billy runs his gaze over his hold and then up to Harrington’s expressive eyes. They are dark, but the sunlight picks out golden flecks that are usually dulled by fluorescent lighting. His mouth flattens out, lips parted slightly. 

“I win,” Billy says, voice going deeper. 

He's more than a little surprised this last move hasn't finally tipped things from playfully rude into indignant posturing, though he admits he's guilty of  _ some _ posturing here. Harrington’s still tense, fight or flight instinct momentarily suspended. Billy is real interested in what has him hesitating, breathing in the scant space between them and giving off a slightly darker scent. One that Billy can't  _ quite  _ place, but one he wants to learn more about. 

His other hand comes up to complete the cage, fingers curling over metal links as he leans in farther. Harrington’s pulse is quick like prey, but there's no fear even when Billy tests him by tightening his grip enough to make it really known. 

Harrington swallows, working for air, and lifts his chin like it'll give him space. All it does is expose more of his vulnerable flesh. “You cheated.”

Bully laughs, “No shit,” unapologetic. He says, “You enjoyed it”

Finally, Harrington has figured out that standing there, pinned, might not be his best move. He reaches up and circles Billy's wrist. His hand is sweaty but soft, strong when he tugs at him. Billy sweeps his thumb over his pulse point once, before he loses his chance, and allows Harrington to move his hand. 

Eyes fluttering, Harrington looks at him. Those huge bambi eyes, soft and bright, must work on all the girls even now that he's not king of the hallways anymore. He's so goddamn pretty. Harrington pushes Billy's hand back, into his chest, pushing for some ground of his own. But he's smiling shyly, like he wants Billy to think it was all his idea to let Harrington go. “Maybe,” he offers, lips red from the exertion of playing 

Billy gives him half a foot, but then he plants his feet and stays, turning his shoulders to box the other boy in when he tries stepping aside. He pulls his hand free from Harrington’s and weaves his fingers into the links next to Harrington’s waist. 

“Jesus, you're a furnace,” Steve comments. It sounds like an insult, but his cheeks are pinking up anew. 

It's too easy, but Billy smiles and says it anyway, leaning closer to take the space he gave up right back. “I run hot.” He speaks close to Harrington’s ear, and he wants to bite so fucking badly he can almost feel the flesh between his teeth. 

His words are met with a shaky laugh, Harrington asking, “How do you manage to make everything you say sound like a come-on?”

“It's a gift,” Billy says, distracted by the thump of the pulse so close. He feels his mouth salivate when Harrington shifts to tip his head back in a sigh. 

Billy isn't generally into traditional werewolf dynamics. He didn't have a chance to grow up in a  _ pack _ , just him and his dad after his mother died. Then Neil married a human like himself, and, well, Billy definitely isn't the alpha of their home. Billy pushes the thought away though, not wanting to think about what would happen if Neil found out about this. 

Billy doesn't just want to hunt—chase—Steve Harrington. He doesn't just want to make him submit. Billy wants to mark him up, wants Steve to smell like  _ his _ even if Steve doesn't really understand...even if Steve isn't really his.

Fuck the full moon has Billy feeling it hard.

Steve is leaning back into the fence, amused with Billy's comeback and not the least worried. Because he doesn't know, can't know. But Billy will accept that for now, is grateful he's getting this much.

Of course, he wants more. 

Billy leans in again, almost chest to chest. He lets go of the fence and touches Steve's bare stomach lightly. Steve's muscles tremble, and he's holding his breath. 

“Maybe it was a come-on,” he suggests, lips barely grazing the shell of Steve's ear, nose tucked behind a thick lock of hair. The sweat and soapy cleanliness of Steve is intoxicating. “That a problem?” 

Steve swallows loudly. “N-no,” he hedges, ridged where he's trapped. Billy can hear the way his heart keeps pumping away in rhythm, no trip of a lie. “But, uh, a little unexpected?”

Billy chuckles, brushing his mouth over Steve's ear now, letting the tip of his tongue sneak out to trace the swirl. He makes an agreeing sound, a bit distracted to talk now that they're reasonably on the same page. He flattens his hand out on Steve's stomach, rubbing tight circles as he tries to figure out which direction he wants to go first. 

“Billy,” Steve objects weakly, when Billy gets his hand up Steve's shirt, fingers bumping over a hardened nipple. “It's...” He trails off in a sharp inhale as Billy rolls his nipple and opens his mouth against Steve's neck.

Steve tastes like he smells—sweet and a little bitter—and it pulls a possessive growl from Billy's chest. He doesn't bother with pleasantries, just bites down with blunt teeth and starts sucking until blood pools beneath the surface. He can smell the way Steve's getting hard, leaking a little at the tip. 

Steve groans, pushing into Billy's touch. His fingers clutch at Billy's shoulders, slide down his back, then grip his waist until their erections are pressed together. “Shit,” he says, breathy and amazed. 

Once he has a decently sized bruise going, Billy can let himself indulge. He trails apologetic kisses along Steve's throat, just knowing the other boy will be annoyed by the hickey. He pushes a thigh between Steve's legs as he kisses that mouth of his, deep and wet. 

The constriction of his jeans makes this hurt almost as good as it feels, but it isn't enough to keep Billy from feeling desperate. He rolls his hips forward and keeps them aligned by dropping his other hand to the swell of Steve's ass. 

He'd like to sneak his hand up those shorts like he's got the other one up Steve's shirt, but this really isn't the time or place. 

“Damn it,” Billy swears, annoyed suddenly by the intrusive thought of Max. He shakes his head when Steve makes a confused noise against his cheek. Billy tilts his head to catch Steve in another kiss, speaking into his mouth, “Nothing, baby.” 

Steve's fingers work into the waistband of Billy's jeans, gripping tight like he's afraid this is all a prank and Billy's going to leave him high and dry, laughing at his distress. Billy's definitely capable of that, but he wants this too much for it to be a prank. Steve fucks his tongue into Billy's mouth, still holding on tight as he kisses him dirty and needy. 

Billy can feel his own need building up, rushing through his body and leaving him on fire. Steve's skin is perfect against his, soothing even as the touch makes him ache more. Everything at his fingertips, and still Billy wants more.

“Come for me,” he says, pinching the other nipple as he ruts his hips against Steve's. The sharp scent of sex hangs between them. Billy can practically  _ taste _ the precome dripping from Steve's cock. 

Steve doesn't say anything, keeps quiet except for a choked off sound. Then he's going tenses as he comes, ass flexing in Billy's grip with tiny, aborted jerks of the hip. He buries his face in Billy's shoulder, teeth pressing in. 

“Fuck,” Billy swears again, angry sounding but really just overcome with the rush of it all. He pushes against Steve like he can melt into him, touch him everywhere, as he spills inside his underwear and jeans. “Fuck,” he repeats, softer with a tired smile. 

He pulls his hand from under Steve's shirt, and lets go of Steve's ass with one last squeeze. He cups Steve's head between both hands and pulls his face up so he can kiss him, reassure him. 

Steve leans into the kiss, breath hot and humid against his face. It's slow, shallow. 

After a minutes, Billy rolls to the side so they're shoulder to shoulder against the fence. He reaches down to adjust himself and grimaces at the cooling squish. Driving Max home like this isn't going to be fun. At least she can't smell it, especially if he drives with the windows down. 

“It's freezing,” Steve says, arms coming up to fold against his chest. “When did it get so cold?”

Billy laughs. “It was never  _ warm _ , idiot. And you're barely wearing any clothes.” He gives him a lengthy up-and-down. “Not that I'm complaining.” 

Steve pushes off the fence, Billy following after him. When he gets to their stuff, Billy accepts his jacket and shirt before Steve pulls a pair of sweats on over his shorts. Smart. 

“Round here, sixty is down-right warm this time of year,” Steve says, grabbing his bomber jacket and shrugging it on. He eyes Billy, pouts, “You made me cold.”

Billy rolls his eyes, stepping close enough that he barely has to reach out when he skims his knuckles over Steve's navel. “I think I warmed you up.” 

Steve snorts, but his ears turn red. “You and your ego must have a complicated relationship.” He wavers for a moment, letting Billy's fingertips trace along the line of hair leading down.

Billy's kind of sad he didn't get to explore more, but hopefully he'll get another chance. 

“I gotta get Max,” he says, eyes roaming over Steve. “Good game.” He pokes his tongue out, stepping backwards so he doesn't have to look away just yet. 

“Fuck off,” Steve chokes out, before he turns to retrieve the basketball from behind the goal. He's chuckling, doesn't sound as wound up as Billy is used to. It's nice, knowing he did something to make Steve  _ relax _ . It's a new feeling. 

* * *

Before he gets to the student parking lot, Billy pulls his shirt back on and does up half the buttons before pulling on his jacket. He keeps the shirt untucked, hoping it'll do enough to mask the wet spot on the front if his jeans, not that Max is really interested in what Billy does on his own time. He flips the collar up even though it looks stupid, just so he can brush his nose against the leather when he's stopped at a traffic light.

He was right, he can still smell Steve Harrington. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm [here](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.c5om).
> 
> Comment if you enjoyed this, please!


End file.
